Lost
by augiesannie
Summary: At year's end, a fragile kind of happiness has taken hold for the von Trapp family and their governess. But then Georg, facing an unwelcome change, acts rashly, and his mistake has life changing and potentially devastating consequences. With nothing left to lose, the Captain and Fraulein Maria must reevaluate the choices they've made. "Hope is a dangerous emotion."
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

He turned over the page on his desk calendar. Tomorrow was the first day of December, and he couldn't put off a decision much longer, although the very idea irritated him. No matter what he decided about Christmas, it would mean an unwelcome disruption after three months of peace and quiet at the villa. The first tranquil period, really, since Agathe's death almost five years before. He shook his head, forcing himself to push aside his own feelings and to consider, instead, what would be best for the children. His family was doing well, thank heaven: safe from the Nazi threat, at least so far, and thriving, secure in the hard-won love of their father and under Fraulein Maria's care.

It was a damned lucky thing, he thought, that their governess had come back when she had, that remarkable day in August. He'd seen less eventful days during the war! When the day had dawned, he'd been preparing to tell the children about his engagement to Elsa and their likely departure for boarding school. But by sunset, he'd come to terms with what he'd known all along, deep inside: that he wasn't going to be able to go through with the marriage.

That same day, Fraulein Maria had returned. Georg could still recall the emotions that had washed over him when she appeared on the terrace – relief, hope, and even joy, in admitting to himself the feelings that had begun to grow between them, flickering to life the night of the children's puppet show, and flaring briefly the night of the party. He'd been so shaken by those feelings that he'd behaved inexcusably toward her minutes later, when Max invited her to dinner. Now he'd be able to apologize for his rudeness and, hopefully talk to her about what was happening between them .

But that late August day had ended with more surprises. He'd sent Elsa back to Vienna, grateful for her gracious exit. But Elsa had been wrong about one thing: when he found Maria in the gazebo, he ran into a wall that seemed made more of bricks than glass. She answered his gentle inquiries about her absence politely, but distantly. He thought – he _knew_ – that she'd run away because of him, and he considered apologizing, but how could he apologize for a wrong she wouldn't even admit existed?

For a few anxious days, Georg had expected the worst: that she'd be gone as soon as another governess could be arranged for, just as she'd promised. But much to his surprise, just a day or two before school started, she informed him, quietly and without meeting his eyes, that Reverend Mother had agreed that she could stay on with the von Trapp children, at least until things "settled down." He found himself hoping that day was in the far, far distant future.

Since then, life at the villa had been curiously agreeable. Or even, he had to admit, what one might call _happy_. Of course, he knew that she'd have to go back to Nonnberg eventually. The Nazi threat still loomed over Austria. And Max tried to warn him that the neighbors were talking about Captain von Trapp's unusual arrangement with the governess who might have come from Nonnberg Abbey but had danced in his arms nonetheless, run away and then returned just as he broke his engagement. Georg pushed all those worries away; it was as though they were living in a bubble – his family and his household, floating along gently on a tide of laughter and music and warm feelings. He wasn't going to let that outside world intrude any more than he absolutely had to.

Was Christmas one of those times? Happily, a welcome distraction presented itself: the grandfather clock in the corner chimed nine times. Nine in the evening. Fraulein Maria should be here soon.

They'd come a long way since her return. Although she had reverted to the ugly, shapeless clothes of her early days at the villa, she had regained the sparkle and fire he remembered in the governess he'd first met last summer. She not only looked him in the eye now, but they talked, and even laughed together, easily and often. About the children, of course, but lately, about music and books and history and any number of things. Occasionally about his military service, very rarely about Agathe and never about _her_ past.

In the last few weeks, without saying anything to acknowledge it, they'd started a new ritual: after putting the younger children to bed, and with the older ones left to read quietly, she'd come back downstairs shortly after nine o'clock and join him in his study for a drink – that is, he drank brandy and teased her for sticking to the cup of tea she'd bring with her. Knowing about her sweet tooth, he always had a plate of biscuits or cake on hand. When the clock struck eleven, they would cross the foyer together, climb the first flight of stairs, share an awkward little smile on the landing, and then depart for their separate rooms, hers in the staff wing and his in the family wing. And that was that.

He told Max that there was nothing improper between himself and the girl, and he almost believed it himself. After all, as a widower, his days of romance and passion were behind him. A veteran of a long and extremely satisfying marriage, and a colorful history with the ladies before that, he seemed to have lost interest in women entirely. There had been a few empty encounters a year or so after Agathe's death, that taught him he wasn't going to be able to resurrect the rakish Georg von Trapp he'd been in his twenties: his body was still working, but his heart wasn't in it anymore, not the way he needed it to be.

Indeed, he'd been almost relieved to break things off with Elsa. Fond as he was of her, he was dreading what would happen after the wedding, when he wouldn't be able to put her off any longer with talk of honor and respect. Georg did not to want to have to pretend to feel desire for Elsa or anyone, where there was only emptiness.

Of course, if he were honest with himself, he'd have to admit that over the summer, he _had_ been tempted by the little governess. A fanciful image of her had somehow lodged in his mind, triggered by an outing with the children for ice cream: in his mind's eye, she stood soaked to the skin the way she'd been that day by the lake, but strangely enough, she was lapping at a strawberry ice cream cone, licking the occasional drop off the tender inside of her wrist. The very idea left him sleepless for a week, until he was able to train himself to top the imaginary Fraulein off with a starched wimple whenever she appeared in his thoughts. At least all those years of mental discipline were good for something.

Most of the time lately, though, when he was around Fraulein Maria, he simply felt _peaceful_. Once in a while, he'd catch himself admiring the coppery glint of her hair in the firelight, or be caught by that sparkling blue gaze, and for a moment, he'd feel almost brave enough to – to what? Reach for her hand? Declare feelings she wouldn't welcome and he didn't understand himself? He didn't want to jeopardize the delicate balance they'd achieved, the fragile happiness that seemed to have taken hold in the household. He didn't want to do anything to frighten her. And what was the point, anyhow, when at some point in the hopefully distant future, she'd be returning to Nonnberg? So Georg remained quiet, not knowing whether to think himself noble or a coward.

"Captain? May I come in?" She had her usual cup of tea with her, but she looked awfully pale, and – perhaps he was just imagining it - troubled, somehow.

"Fraulein Maria! Yes, yes, of course. Come in. What have you come to argue with me about tonight?"

She smiled weakly, and he felt a smile crease his face in reply.

"I'm sorry, Fraulein. I'm glad you're here, actually. I've been trying to decide about what to do with the children for Christmas."

"Christmas? The children told me that since their – that is, that you usually take them to their grandparents. Their mother's parents," she finished awkwardly.

"That's true," he nodded. "The Whiteheads have a chalet near Innsbruck, about three hours from here. We've spent Christmas week with them ever since – uh – she died. But not this year." He shifted uneasily in his chair.

It wasn't really any of a governess' business, but he found himself explaining the situation anyway. "I'm afraid I'm persona non grata with my mother-in-law. We had a difference of opinion, she and I. About what she believes is my failure to – She is disappointed that I didn't marry Baroness Schrader."

"Really?" her blue eyes widened in surprise. "You mean she _wanted _you to remarry?"

Georg shrugged. "Mathilde – my mother-in-law - she understood that the children need a mother, especially the younger ones. She'd known Baroness Schrader's mother for years. The marriage would have gotten my girls launched into society, and very nicely. But I suspect that my mother-in-law also knew that Elsa – I mean, uh, Baroness Schrader - was no threat to her daughter's memory. It was an ideal arrangement, from Mathilde's point of view."

He paused and added , "Just not from mine," even though he wasn't sure his governess would understand what he meant. It seemed an important point to make.

He hadn't meant to unburden himself in this fashion, and he paused to pour himself a drink and wave her toward the plate of sweets he had waiting for her. But then, somehow, he didn't change the subject after all. "So, you see, Mathilde is not very happy with me. I don't think I'm up to a week of her disapproval. I thought of staying here with the children, but I don't want to disappoint them. I'm not sure I know how to make Christmas here. Their mother, you know, she used to…." He ran out of words.

Fraulein Maria's forceful response took him by surprise. "Oh, please don't do that, Captain! It wouldn't be right! To keep the children apart from their grandparents that way. They _need _ each other. They're all her parents have left of their daughter. And they're all your children have left of their mother," she finished with considerable emotion.

He looked down at the floor, pondering, but he felt her watching him the whole time. "I know," he admitted. "I've been trying to convince myself otherwise for days, but in the end, I know you're right. I'll take them to Innsbruck. Which leaves you. What are your plans, Fraulein?"

There was a long pause before she spoke. "I wanted to talk to you about that, actually, Captain. I'm not spending Christmas at the Abbey. "

"Turned out at Christmas? No room at the inn?" he joked. "That hardly seems appropriate for the season." He closed his mouth quickly when he saw the look on her face.

"Captain. You remember what I told you in August. Reverend Mother only sent me back here temporarily, and I'm afraid the time has come when I must leave. The thing is, I'm not only leaving here. I'm leaving the Abbey, actually. Permanently. I'm not going to be a nun," and here she paused to take a sip of tea. The cup trembled in her hand, and he saw her swallow and furiously blink back tears before she went on, although, with obvious effort, she kept her voice level. "They've found me a teaching job. In Vienna . It's for the best. Reverend Mother has been nothing but kind, they all have, really, but after what happened-"

Abruptly, she fell silent, but he hardly noticed, being too occupied with the strange feeling that his heart had fallen entirely out of his chest and was lying on the floor. It would be an enormous blow to the children, he told himself, thinking back on when she'd run away last summer.

"When will you be leaving?" he asked. "Have you told the children?"

"Just after New Year's," she said. Another sip of tea. "I report to the new school on January fifth. And no, I haven't said anything to them. That's why I thought – if you're all going away for Christmas, I should tell them before you leave. Meanwhile, I know the villa will be empty, with the staff allowed to go home, but I'm hoping you'll let me stay here on my own for the holiday. I'll manage just fine, and I don't really have anywhere else to go. They think it would be too _disruptive _for me to go back to Nonnberg at this point." The ghost of a smile crossed her face.

"Wait a minute," he said. "Why don't you come with us? To Innsbruck? "

"Oh, Captain. I couldn't interfere with your family Christmas like that."

"Don't be silly," Georg said, feeling a flicker of enthusiasm at the idea. If she had only a few weeks left with them, why not make the most of it? "You are part of this family! The children would not stand for your being alone at Christmas. You know perfectly well that they'll be thrilled. And I've a selfish interest in bringing you along. I don't want to referee their arguments, or hunt down their mittens, and I don't want them waking me in the middle of the night with their bad dreams, either, now, do I?"

He changed the subject before she could raise any more objections and after that, the rest of the evening flew by. As always, when the clock struck eleven, he rose and strode across the room to stand in the doorway, his wordless signal that the evening was at an end. And as always, she scurried by him, out the door, across the foyer and toward the stairs. He hadn't forgotten how to intimidate her, he thought smugly, grinning as he followed her up the to the landing.

"Good night, Fraulein. " He was still grinning.

"Good night, Captain," she smiled.

He watched her disappear up the stairs toward the staff quarters. But then the smile vanished from his face when he remembered that soon, she would disappear from the villa for good.

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**I hope you enjoyed this first chapter. Rest assured, there are more chapters and much angst ahead. I'll be giving h/ts along the way, but the first goes to mquest. When I first had the idea for this story, she came along with Gypsy Travelers and I slunk away in embarrassment, but since then, her writing has inspired me to be bolder and more confident. Or crazier, I don't know which. And a h/t to lemacd. Anyway, I write about TSOM only for love, and own nothing about it. ** **Please leave me a review, even a short one. **


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

"But Father! You're not going to leave today, are you? It's Boxing Day, after all."

Georg forced a smile onto his face. "Celebrating the day after Christmas is a peculiarly English tradition, Brigitta darling. One that your grandparents, and you children – being English on your mother's side – have every reason to observe. I, on the other hand, was born in Trieste. So no Boxing Day for me."

"But you're taking Fraulein Maria with you, and she's one hundred percent Austrian, Father."

"Your Fraulein wants to see the sisters at the Abbey, Brigitta. I told you. And as I have some business matters to attend to, I thought I'd give her a lift. You'll have a wonderful time with your grandparents and I'll be back to get you next week."

Lame excuses, as lame as blue strawberries, he thought wildly. Gretl might have fallen for them, but it was impossible to fool Brigitta. She looked at him skeptically. "I don't understand why you're in such a hurry to leave us, when you're just going to have to turn around and come back here to bring us home. All the other times you brought us here, you stayed the whole time! And why would Fraulein Maria want to visit the Abbey now, when she hasn't visited there in weeks?"

"Brigitta, the most important thing is for you to be with your grandparents. The seven of you are older now. You can manage on your own, without me, or a governess."

He wondered if his perceptive daughter had noticed his mother-in-law's frosty demeanor toward him. He'd sought Mathilde Whitehead out as soon as they'd arrived, hoping to clear the air about Elsa, but she'd immediately bustled from the room. Since then, she'd clearly been avoiding him, speaking no more than a few words to Georg directly, and then only when necessary. Thankfully, Mathilde had been as warm and loving toward the children as ever, showering them with gifts, praising them effusively, finding endless ways to entertain them, and most importantly, sharing the memories of their mother they were so hungry for. He was surprised to find how much he'd enjoyed overhearing some of those memories himself; the stories about Agathe brought him more pleasure, and less pain, than he might have expected.

He turned back to the window, scanning the sky. "And , anyway, Brigitta, there's a storm on the way. We need to get out ahead of it."

"If I were you, I'd be worried about that storm," observed a deep voice from behind him. "Your timing couldn't be worse, unless you mean to get caught in it." Georg turned to find that Brigitta had apparently given up on convincing him to stay and had wandered off , but that he'd been joined by his father-in-law. The two men stood together for a moment, surveying the gray sky.

"Are you sure you won't stay a few more days, Georg?" said the older man. "I know it's been awkward. Mathilde was just disappointed by the way things turned out with Elsa, you know. She's been friends with Elsa's mother for years, and I guess they figured... She'll come around eventually."

Georg nodded. "I understand. Maybe we'll come back in the springtime." He clapped John Whitehead on the back, and left to finish packing. He'd told Fraulein Maria to be ready to leave by noon, and it was already half past eleven.

It had hit him suddenly, the urgent need to get away from the Whiteheads' chalet. The visit to Innsbruck had started out well enough when they'd left Aigen five days earlier, seven children and Fraulein Maria tucked cozily beneath blankets in the car, for the air was bitter-cold. But the sun sparkled brilliantly on the snow, the roads were clear and dry, and their spirits were high as the children and their governess sang their way through sun-dappled woods and the winding, high mountain pass between Salzburg and Innsbruck.

For Georg, of course, there was a pall hanging over Christmas: the knowledge of Fraulein Maria's imminent departure. They'd planned to tell the children while in Innsbruck, hoping that the excitement of the holiday and their grandparents' indulgent attentions would cushion the blow. But somehow, the right moment hadn't presented itself – and for that, once again, he had his mother-in-law to blame.

Mathilde Whitehead had been courteous enough when first introduced to the governess the day they'd arrived. But when they sat down to dinner, Brigitta had, of course, been the first to notice. "Where is Fraulein Maria?"

Her grandmother pursed her lips briefly before explaining, "In our house, Brigitta, the servants eat in the kitchen." Liesl shot him an appalled glance, but Georg shook his head at her, warningly. He wanted to keep things peaceful for the younger children. Surely Mathilde would fall under Fraulein Maria's spell soon enough. The children had, and so had he, after all. Everyone did, eventually.

Just before midnight, Gretl had crawled into his bed, complaining that she couldn't find her Fraulein. The little girl repeated her complaint the next morning, when her governess appeared in the salon, after breakfasting in the kitchen. "Fraulein Maria. Where were you last night? I looked in every single room and you weren't anywhere! I had to go find Father, and you _know _how he is when he's awakened in the middle of the night."

Georg almost choked on his coffee, at the implication that Fraulein Maria knew anything about his sleeping or waking habits. But the governess simply replied, calmly, "Oh, Gretl darling, I have a lovely room. It's just a bit farther away from you, on the third floor. Let's put you to sleep with Liesl tonight, shall we, and she'll help you if you need something, all right?"

He'd looked up to see his mother-in-law gazing meditatively at Fraulein Maria, who had already turned her attention to Marta's braids. It only took a moment or two to work it out: perhaps Elsa had departed the villa graciously, but it didn't mean she hadn't shared her suspicions about Maria with her mother and her mother's oldest friend, Mathilde Whitehead.

From that point on, Georg had made it his mission to make sure Fraulein Maria's last Christmas with the von Trapp family was a happy one; after all, didn't she deserve special treatment after doing so much for his family, especially when their hostess was getting less courteous by the day? And so he took pleasure in requesting her favorite dishes from the kitchen, inquiring about her favorite Christmas carols, and accompanying her and the children to church on Christmas Eve without complaint, although he hadn't been to church in years. It had been months since he'd heard her sing, and he'd forgotten just how enchanting her clear soprano could be.

Some reconnaissance under the tree told him that the governess' only gifts would be the simple ones homemade by the children. While that was wonderful in its own way, of course, a quick telegram to Max Detweiler was all it took to assure that, by Christmas morning, an ample stack of presents lay under the tree for the little governess. Max had even sent along a gift for "my dear friend and Captain," a cashmere jumper in a lurid shade of scarlet that was completely out of character for Georg. Mathilde was not fond of Max, he knew, and her disdainful snort was all it took for Georg to wear that jumper every day since.

Somehow, the more he tried to make things pleasant for Fraulein Maria, the more uncivil Mathilde Whitehead became toward her, and the more difficult it became to tell the children that their governess was leaving for good. He remembered what it had been like in August, breaking the news to them that she'd gone back to the Abbey, and he could not bear the thought of going through that again. He began to feel the same kind of pressure he'd felt a year or two ago – the pressure that had caused him to run away to Vienna, time and time again, unable to face his children's unhappiness.

He had made the decision to flee Innsbruck impulsively just yesterday, over Christmas dinner. The thought had no sooner occurred to him than he heard himself say, "Children, something's come up, some business I have to attend to at home. And Fraulein Maria wants to visit the Abbey, so I'll be taking her back to Salzburg tomorrow, after lunch. I'll be back to get you next week, as we originally planned." He fled the table as quickly as possible, before anyone could pepper him with questions, and immediately ran into Fraulein Maria in the dimly lit corridor that led to the kitchen. Only then did it occur to him that perhaps he ought to have consulted her first. Hastily, he filled her in on his plan.

Her blue eyes flashed angrily in the low light. "Captain. Have you lost your mind?" she hissed. "I am not one of your – your – troops that you simply order to and fro. I told you. I can't go back to the Abbey! And we haven't told the children yet. That I'm moving to Vienna."

"I've changed my mind, Fraulein. I don't want their holiday ruined. We'll tell them at New Year's," he said gruffly, adding, unnecessarily, "I am their father, after all."

"If you want to run away from your problems," she said, looking around nervously to make sure no one was listening, "that's your business. But you don't have to take me with you. Where am I going to go, for heaven's sake?"

"You can stay at the villa."

"At the villa? But everyone else is gone. I can't stay there alone with you. Reverend Mother would _definitely _not approve of that!"

"Then your Reverend Mother should not have used my home as a staging area while she eased you out of the Abbey for good. And as for running away from my problems, Fraulein, you of all people should be careful about criticizing others."

"Oh, you-" she fumed, and he raised an eyebrow in a wordless challenge. Was she really going to curse at him? But she took a deep breath, straightened up, and replied, with great dignity, "I'll go with you. But only because-"

"Yes?" Now he was curious.

"Because, Captain. The third floor is unheated."

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

It was closer to one o'clock before they were on their way. The sky really didn't look good, but Georg was stubbornly committed to the journey; he felt like he'd suffocate if they stayed at the chalet a moment longer.

The first hour of their journey was not especially pleasant; they didn't speak at all, and the air around them fairly vibrated with tension. He glanced over at her a few times, but she held herself rigid in her seat and kept her gaze fixed on the road ahead. The weather was passable enough: if the sky wasn't bright, at least it was clear. Shortly before the road started to climbed into the pass, however, it began to rain. He slowed his pace, following the road's curves with careful skill, and noticing, uneasily, that the rain had turned to sleet and that the road felt slippery beneath the wheels.

"Captain? Are you sure – are you sure it's safe for us to go on?" she asked uneasily.

"Of course it is," he said shortly, and then added in an attempt at levity, "Are you questioning my ability as a driver, Fraulein?"

But she didn't pick up on the joke. Instead, she said quite seriously, "I just don't want to inconvenience you. Or endanger you."

Keeping his eyes on the road, he asked, "What are you talking about?"

"I know why you were in such a hurry to leave. Because they were unkind to me. You didn't have to do that."

Georg blinked. Had he been that obvious?

"This is not the time to talk about it," was all he said, and resumed his focus on the road in front of them as it twisted and rose steeply into the mountain pass. They'd lost time, driving more slowly than usual, and the sun was already sinking behind the trees. Icy pellets hit the windshield and it was hard to see more than a few feet ahead in the gathering dusk.

He remembered the sensation from his time at war. How, when catastrophe hit, everything happened in slow motion, as though to give you a chance to ponder everything you might be about to lose. It was only a matter of seconds, probably: from the moment the deer darted out in front of them, to his failed efforts to swerve around it, to the sickening knowledge that they were skidding across the road, heading directly towards a tree, only to somehow slide past it, spin in a half-circle, and come to rest, with a loud splash, at an impossibly steep angle in the brush nearby. But it felt like an hour: time enough to fear for seven children who might be left orphaned, to think longingly of Agathe, to remember, regretfully, the young woman huddled in the passenger seat.

"Fraulein. Fraulein Maria. Oh, God. Are you all right?"

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**Thank you for reading my story, and for the reviews, favorites and follows. Things are just getting interesting! I don't own TSOM or anything about it. **


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

He nearly fainted with relief at the sound of her voice.

"I'm fine, Captain. Are you hurt?"

"No, I'm all right. Stay still for a minute and let me think," Georg directed her, his every reflex and instinct on high alert.

He reached under the seat for the electric torch that was always kept there, opened the car door and peered out into the gloom. There was very little daylight left. But the ground around his door seemed clear, so he cautiously stepped out of the car and quickly took in the situation: the car had slid partway into a creek, so that the rear and the passenger side were partially submerged, while the driver's side was on dry ground.

It was bitter cold; icy sleet needled his face. His nose twitched with alarm at the unmistakable smell of gasoline. A line must have broken in the collision, he realized, and they might be in imminent danger of explosion! He leaned back into the car and stretched out his arm to her. "Fraulein Maria," he said, as calmly as he could. "I need to get you out of the car. Just take my hand and-"

"Oh, no trouble, Captain," she said nonchalantly. "I'll just let myself out on my side."

Before he could warn her, she opened her door and promptly vanished from sight. There was a loud splash, a scream, and then silence.

"Fraulein! Fraulein Maria! Are you all right?" he cried out, for the second time in minutes. As he moved quickly but cautiously around the car, he was about to chastise her for her typically impulsive behavior when he was brought up short by the sight of the little governess splashing frantically in the mountain stream, which was half-choked with ice. Moaning with fear and cold, she struggled to her feet, but the water surrounded her, waist-high.

He looked around until he found a stout branch. "Grab onto it," he directed and, extending it to her, guided her back onto firmer ground, well away from the car. She was thoroughly soaked, dripping wet in the cold. "Stay put until I tell you otherwise," he ordered grimly.

First things first, Georg told himself. He reached back into the car, hastily searching for anything that might be of use in the ordeal that undoubtedly lay ahead. An old quilt. A heavy, fur-lined blanket. A box of Christmas sweets. Moving rapidly away from the creek, he joined Fraulein Maria, stopping to turn the torch one last time on the accident scene. With the car partly underwater, and the wet weather, there probably wasn't much of a danger of explosion, but just in case, he took her arm and led her deeper into the woods.

They silently trudged uphill through the woods for several minutes , leaning into the icy, blustering wet. Her teeth were chattering so loud that he could hear them even over the howling wind. He was beginning to wonder where, exactly, they were going, when just ahead, there appeared a small clearing barely big enough to hold a rough, windowless shed: it wasn't really more than a lean-to, except there wasn't anything for it to lean against. He thought about going on, but the sleet had grown heavier, she was rapidly losing strength, and his heart was pounding with the effort of slogging uphill into the storm, carrying a pile of heavy blankets, and half- dragging her along beside him. And so they stumbled the last few feet and he pulled the shed door open.

Standing in the doorway, he flashed the light around the single room's perimeter, only a few meters square. It was completely empty, and there wasn't a fireplace or stove, he saw regretfully – not that they'd be able to find dry fuel anywhere, anyway. But it was out of the wind and the wet, and so he pulled her into the shed , dumped his cargo on the floor, and closed the door firmly behind them.

With shelter secured, his mind raced to the next challenge. The pages of the Navy survival manual rose up before him:

_Symptoms of hypothermia include clumsiness, slurred speech, confusion and shivering. In mild cases, make sure the victim has warm, dry clothing. As hypothermia worsens, shivering stops. This is a sign of a grave medical emergency. The safest, most effective way to warm someone with severe hypothermia is skin to skin contact. _

"We've got to get you out of those wet clothes," he directed her, waving the electric torch in her direction.

"F-fine," she replied, through chattering teeth. "Just give me my bag, so I can change."

"Your bag's in the boot, and under water, I'm afraid. You can wrap yourself in that quilt," and he gestured at the covers piled on the floor.

"W-what?" she said, sounding reassuringly like herself, even if her teeth were chattering, "are you mad, Captain? Surely you d-don't expect me to…"

Georg glanced at her , shivering as she stood in the middle of a puddle. Her bulky coat and the shapeless dress she wore underneath continued dripping steadily.

"And surely _you_ don't expect me to be suggesting anything improper," he said, as patiently as he could. "Dry clothing is the key to survival in a situation like this."

"I s-see where Liesl gets her flair for the dramatic," his governess sputtered. "There is no w-way I'm going to undress in front of you." Even in the gloom, he could see her blue eyes burning with indignation.

He sighed. "Fraulein. You have lived under my roof for months. Have I _ever _given you any reason to believe I'm anything other than a gentleman? I'll turn out the torch. And turn away from you if you like. I can assure you, it's the last thing on my mind, to-"

With a stubborn tilt of her chin, she plopped herself down in the middle of her puddle. "I'm fine, Captain. I grew up on a mountain and I'm tougher than you think I am. I'll just wrap up and I'll be fine."

With an angry growl, he tossed the quilt in her direction. Not that it would do her any good - it would be soaked, and useless, within minutes if she came anywhere near it. Still, he'd leave the covers to her in case she changed her mind; the cold wasn't bothering him half as much as her bull-headed behavior. He turned his back to her and curled up on the floor. The wind had picked up, and he could hear the scrape of branches against the roof of the shed. Something ought to be done about the little governess before she was in any real danger, but he'd be damned if-

"Sishter Berthe?"

Overcome with relief and exhaustion, he must have dropped off to sleep for a few minutes, but now he was wide awake.

"Fraulein Maria? Are you all right?"

"Sishter Berthe? I'm shorry I'm late. Yesh, Sishter, of coursh."

_Confusion and slurred speech_.

"Kishing the floor now."

Georg stood and flicked the torch on in her direction and his heart began to race at the sight: Fraulein Maria still sat in the middle of her puddle, but her skin was more gray that white and – worst of all – she was not shivering at all, merely babbling nonsense while she stared vacantly into space.

…_a grave medical emergency._

For a man trained to be resourceful and fearless in battle, what he did next was quite irrational: he strode to the door and threw it open, as though he hoped to find help waiting on the other side. What he saw only made things worse: it was snowing now, snowing heavily. There would be no help for them tonight. The wind blew the snow sideways into his face, and he had to struggle to slam the shed door closed again.

There was no avoiding it. He placed the torch on the floor so that it would give him light to work by. Taking a deep breath, he moved toward her cautiously. "Fraulein Maria. I'm going to have to-" but she was still staring off into space, smiling broadly, and not responding to her name at all. Well, maybe that would make things easier.

_Skin-to-skin contact. _

He'd done it in the Navy, when men went overboard. Of course they were men, but he wasn't sure if that was better or worse.

As though in a dream, Georg shed his clothes: his coat first, still wet from the storm, then shoes, socks, trousers and underwear, and finally Max's scarlet jumper. He barely noticed the cold on his skin; he was too busy worrying that she was in real trouble. She was looking straight at him now, smiling pleasantly, apparently oblivious to the fact that her employer stood before her, not one meter away, wearing only his wristwatch.

"You're next," he muttered. Her shoes made a sucking sound when he removed them. He took her hands and pulled her to her feet, as floppy as a rag doll and weighing little more. With grim concentration, he supported her with one arm and stripped off her clothes with the other, first the heavy coat, the knit dress, and some badly frayed undergarments, all the time trying not to think about the years in which he'd undressed young women one-handed for much more pleasant purposes. That was all behind him now, he felt certain of that, even after he'd uncovered every inch of her grayish, goose-pimpled skin.

He gently deposited her in a little heap on the floor – she seemed to be humming to herself, now, but he couldn't quite catch the melody – while he spread out the quilt nearby. All he had to do now was scoop her onto the quilt, pull the warm fur-lined blanket over the both of them, and hold her close.

But he couldn't do it. It was as though a second Fraulein Maria was standing in the corner, eyebrows raised, tapping her foot, seeming to question his behavior the way she always did, but in this case without saying a word.

"Right, then," Georg muttered again, "not quite skin-to –skin." His coat was too wet to be useful, but he retrieved the red jumper from the floor and dressed her in it, threading her head through the neck and her arms through the sleeves. It would cover her almost to her knees, and that would have to do. Then, working quickly – she had stopped singing now – he pulled his trousers back on, rolled her onto the quilt, stretched out alongside her, and pulled the heavy fur-lined blanket over the both of them. He hesitated for a moment and then, gingerly, pulled her into his arms.

**^#^#^#^#^#^#^#**

**I don't own anything about the Sound of Music or the characters. It **_**is**_** extremely cold where I live right now, though, just like in the story, so there's that. Thanks for reading this chapter and the reviews, follows and favorites.**


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Within minutes, she began to warm up. In the dim light of the electric torch, he could see the color returning to her cheeks, and she began to shiver – a good sign. Unfortunately, she also regained an awareness of where she was.

She reared away from him and looked at him in disbelief. "Captain von Trapp?" Her eyes widened at the sight of his bare chest.

"Fraulein. Let me explain."

"What is happening ? Why are you - where are your clothes? Why am I wearing your-"

He took her gently by the shoulders. "Please, if you would just-"

"Let go of me! How _could_ you? Where are my clothes? What have you _done _to me?"

"Fraulein Maria. Just listen to me for a minute, would you?"

"_Let – me – go_!" She thrashed about violently, disturbing his carefully-constructed cocoon and admitting a gust of cold air.

By now she was crying, but that didn't stop her from lashing out, beating at him with her fists and knees. It was easy enough to subdue her, but not before she left a scratch on his face that, he was fairly sure, had drawn blood. He managed to throw one leg over hers to stop her from kicking, and then grabbed her wrists and held them together as gently as he could.

"What do you want?" she choked. "W-what are you going to do to me?"

"I'm not going to hurt you, for God's sake. And I will let go of you, Fraulein Maria, if you promise to be still and listen to me for just thirty seconds. Can you do that?" he asked, but he made it clear from his tone that she really didn't have a choice.

"Yes," she snuffled. " Just please. Please. Let go of my wrists." Her body remained tense against his.

He eased his hold on her and took a steadying breath. He felt insulted – _hurt_, almost - that she could think so ill of him, but he couldn't really blame her. And he needed her to trust him, and to obey him, as well, or they would be in even worse trouble.

"All right. For more than six months, Fraulein, _you_ have been ordering _me_ around. It may have escaped your notice, but not once, not since our argument by the lake, have I _ever_ told you what to do, not even _once_. But I'm taking command now, and you _are_ going to obey me. It's probably below zero already in here, and it's going to get a lot colder. I've had training and years of experience in surviving extreme conditions and it is dangerous to be wearing soaking wet clothing in air this cold. _Dangerous_. So, yes, I got you out of your wet things. And I'll have you know that I behaved like a perfect gentleman while I did it, as I have _every_ moment of _every _day since we met. I'm not going to say you should be grateful to me for this, but you should know that, in truth, skin to skin contact would have been the preferred way to warm you up. We did it when we had to, on the North Sea. But I gave you my jumper, and I kept myself partly dressed as well. You should be thanking me, not inflicting bodily harm on me. Moreover, if we don't keep each other warm, one if not both of us could freeze to death. Tonight."

He stopped to take a deep breath. She'd let out a little moan at the mention of skin-to-skin contact, but the fight had gone out of her. "You aren't exaggerating, Captain? We're actually in danger?"

Georg hesitated, not wanting to alarm her further.

"Captain. I assure you, I'm tougher than I look. Tell me the truth."

He'd trusted her with his children, certainly he could trust her with the truth. "The immediate danger is the cold. If we stay close like this, and keep each other warm, we should be all right for tonight. I know it's an awkward situation," he allowed, "but your modesty is not worth the cost of our lives. Neither of us can manage alone, I'm afraid."

"So if we stay warm until morning, then…?" Her voice trailed off, leaving only a mute plea for reassurance.

"We're still a good ten kilometers from the nearest town. When we crashed, I thought that even if we couldn't hike out, someone would surely drive by and see us. And the car. However, it's started to snow. If it snows heavily enough, the road through the pass will be closed. There won't be many people through here for a few days. We can try to make it out of here on foot, but it won't be easy. We've got a box of chocolates to sustain us. It could be worse, but it could be much, much better."

"Are you telling me," she said unsteadily, "that we could die?"

"No. Lots of things could go our way," he said, trying to sound more confident than he felt.

"I'm frightened, Captain."

"So am I, Fraulein."

"You're frightened?" She leaned away from him and studied his face. "But you're a big naval hero!"

"Naval heroes get just as scared as anyone else," he corrected her. "The only difference is training that teaches you to act without thinking. So the fear can't paralyze you. Or make you do something stupid." He could only hope she wouldn't point out that he'd already done something stupid by setting out to cross a mountain pass in the face of a storm.

"I'm sorry," she said, "That I fought you that way. I don't know what I was thinking. Because I don't think you would ever do anything to hurt me. Did I – oh, dear, did I injure you?"

"Just a scratch," he reassured her. From the sting on his face he was fairly sure there would be visible damage in the morning, and how he looked forward to teasing her about it! The smile left his face at the thought of what the morning would bring, and he cleared his throat . "I'm sorry, Fraulein. That I got you into this. It was utterly irresponsible of me to set out in this weather. I ought to have known better."

"You did it for me, didn't you, though?" She sounded pleased.

"I did," Georg admitted. "You've done so much for my family, and I thought you deserved better than the treatment you were getting from Mathilde. Especially since you are about to leave m – ehrm - us."

A dark thought stabbed at him. "The children. How could I have been so reckless? I ought to have been twice as careful, being their only parent! And you, for that matter. You have your whole life in front of you. I should never have endangered you in this way."

"I hadn't thought of that." she reflected. " I suppose it's different for you."

"What do you mean?"

"If something happens to me, no one will even remember I existed," Fraulein Maria said sadly. "I have no family. It would be awful for the children if something happened to you, but at least you'd be missed. And you've left your mark on the world. You were a national hero. That's a legacy quite apart from seven beautiful children."

He would have laughed out loud had her words not stung. Was that how she saw him? A man with his best days behind him? Well, come to think of it, it was how he saw himself.

"Look," he said, "it's a long time till morning." He glanced at his watch before flicking off the torch. "It's barely past seven in the evening now. Let's try to rest."

By now, it was warm enough under the fur blanket that she wasn't shivering anymore. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and – his heart broke for the trust in her gesture– she tucked her head under his chin and lay quietly against him. But only for a minute, before she shifted in his arms and gave a little moan of distress.

"What is it now, Fraulein?"

"I don't know where to put my hands. I mean, without touching you. It was very kind of you to give me your jumper, but…"

"You can put your hands anywhere. It doesn't matter," he assured her, although deep inside, he felt a warning flicker that he quickly pushed away. This was Fraulein Maria, after all.

"It matters to _me_, Captain. It's bad enough that you , ehrm, _undressed_ me." He could almost _hear_ her blush.

He sighed. "All right. Turn over."

"What?"

"So your back is to me. Like spoons. That way, the only thing you'll have to hold onto is your own hands, all right?" Once she was settled into position, he wrapped his arms around her and tried not to notice the soft brush of her hair against his chest.

"It _is_ nice and warm, like this," she sighed, "and this jumper – what makes it so soft?"

"It's cashmere. From goats, I think, though not red ones," and he smiled and tightened his arms around her; only Fraulein Maria, he thought wryly, would be capable of contentment at a time like this. He heard the softest whisper. "What did you say, Fraulein?"

"I'm praying," she replied.

So Georg lay quietly, listening hard for her whispered prayers over the whisking snow, the wind whistling across the cracks in the shed's walls and the rub of trees against its roof. When had he stopped asking God for help? In the heat of war? He'd never lost a battle, but they'd lost the war anyway. When Agathe died? He'd prayed, but his prayers had not been heard. Still, he was glad she was doing it now.

Twenty years ago, he'd been known for his calm, steely focus in the face of danger, and his ability to force his body to get even a few minutes' sleep when the opportunity presented itself, no matter the circumstances. Tonight, though, his mind wandered, and couldn't find a place to rest. He tried not to think about the fact that he was holding her in his arms: a lovely young woman who had become more important to him than he wanted to admit. He tried not to think about the menacing storm outside, or the dangers that lay ahead for them. He tried not to think about the faces of his children if they were to lose their only parent. In the end, it was the steady rise and fall of her body against his as she breathed, that calmed him, and let him rest.

**I don't own TSOM or anything about it. Thanks for the reviews, favorites and follows. RIP ADH.**


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

He didn't know how long he'd slept, only that he suddenly jerked awake, from a dream that made him feel like he'd been dipped in hot syrup. Beneath the warm, heavy blanket, Maria had melted against him from shoulders to knees, her round bottom lodged quite firmly against him.

And – had he known all along this would happen? - the traitorous lower half of his body seemed to have forgotten that he was still grieving for his wife. Forgotten that he hadn't looked at a woman for years. Forgotten how many times he'd politely turned aside Elsa's advances, talking of honor and respect, but never of love. With great effort, his mind managed to summon the image of Fraulein Maria in her wimple, but his body refused to take note of it.

As carefully as possible, Georg tried to shift away from her to minimize contact. Thinking to check the time, he reached for the electric torch, only to discover the battery had died. Before he could stop himself, he let out a low curse and she stirred against him.

"Captain? What time is it?"

"I don't know. I can't see my watch. The torch has died." He said a quick, silent prayer that she was too innocent to know what was happening. Or that she'd slide back into sleep unawares. Just in case, his mind cast about for some innocuous topic of conversation. But his little governess was more worldly than he anticipated.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly.

"Why is that?" he asked, trying, and probably failing, to sound innocent. He felt her turn to face him.

"You're-" Despite the darkness, he could almost see her struggle to find the word. "-uncomfortable."

"I'm sorry," he said awkwardly. "Please don't take any offense. It's just a reflex. A response to the stress, you know. It doesn't have anything at all to do with you." He aimed to sound matter-of-fact, but, to his own ears, he just sounded daft.

"Thanks," she said dryly. "I could have told you that. No one would _ever_ think of me that way."

He seemed to be apologizing left and right tonight. "I didn't mean – well, what do you expect? You're going to be a _nun_, for heaven's sake. Or, I mean, you were going to. Now that you've changed your mind-"

"-had it changed for me, you mean," Fraulein Maria said, a touch bitterly.

"Well. Yes. I'm sure it's only a matter of time before the young men come swarming." Georg wondered if she found that thought appealing. Somehow, he didn't.

"If we don't survive, though," she said, and he couldn't quite tell if she was joking, "I'll die the world's oldest virgin."

"I'm sure you're not the oldest," he reassured her. "How old are you, anyway?"

"Twenty-two. You?''

He considered shaving a year or two off his answer, but in their desperate circumstances, and already being guilty of sinful thoughts, it hardly seemed worth violating one of the Ten Commandments.

"Forty-six."

Fraulein Maria was quiet, undoubtedly pondering the arithmetic: he was more than twice her age. Why, he'd already been a grown man when she was born!

Or perhaps she was contemplating what she should do, since his _situation_ hadn't improved any. Georg didn't want to hurt her feelings by moving farther away. He was debating whether to find some excuse to creep out from beneath the fur blanket and let the frigid air do its work, when she spoke again.

"There's a game I play with the children, Captain. When they're sad or scared, I tell them to think of their favorite things, you know, rainbows or puppy dogs. Maybe," she suggested practically, "it would help for you to think of things that distress you. I know you're not fond of lamb, for example."

He was incredulous. _Lamb_? With all the suffering he'd seen in his life, and experienced first-hand, she was suggesting they make a game of it?

"I hardly think-" he started, but he was so desperate for any diversion at all, that his answers came readily. "The color yellow. Spain – I had a terrible case of dysentery there. That telegram boy – what's his name?"

"Rolf," she replied. "Do you want to know what's on my list? Tight shoes. Rachmaninoff. And oh, yes. Raisins. I can't _stand _the texture of raisins. "

"Rachmaninoff? One of the greatest artists of our time?"

"Not as far as I'm concerned," she said flatly.

"I've seen you eat strudel. You can put away two or three pieces at a time, in fact. Strudel is _full_ of raisins," he challenged her.

"Kurt. I slip the raisins to Kurt," she confessed. "It's our little secret."

They were silent for a while. Long enough to make it clear that her game hadn't worked, and wasn't likely to, as long they remained nestled together for warmth.

"You'll see," Georg said, wanting to reassure and possibly distract her. "We'll get out of here, and you'll go on to your new life in Vienna, and you'll be the belle of the ball."

"And if we don't," she said, morosely, "I will never have had a boyfriend. I will never have been kissed."

He couldn't hide his astonishment. "You've never been kissed?"

"Don't laugh at me, Captain. It's not very kind of you , under the circumstances. I've been planning to become a nun since I was barely in my teens, so naturally, I tried to keep myself … tidy."

"I'm sorry," he said. If he'd known the turn this trip was going to take, he'd have had these apologies printed up in bulk, it would have saved him a lot of breath. "I didn't mean – it's just that you are quite attractive, you know."

She gave an audible gulp. "I don't suppose…" she whispered.

"What?"

"N-no. Never mind."

Now he was curious. The way her mind worked, she was always thinking something interesting, and he was still desperate for a distraction. "What were you going to say?"

Another gulp. "I was going to ask if – well, if _you_ would kiss me."

"Are you mad?" he countered, on simple instinct.

"I'm sorry, she said tightly. "I knew you wouldn't want to. I shouldn't even have asked."

He immediately regretted speaking too soon: what harm would it do, really? There were even odds they'd freeze to death out here, he thought, and just as he was discovering that he was still … And he had the completely irrational thought that an innocent kiss or two might calm things down, satisfy his urges.

"I didn't say I didn't want to," Georg fumbled. "Don't put words in my mouth." He bit back a snicker at the unintentional joke. "I was thrown off guard for a minute, that's all."

He held his breath, but after a few moments, he realized that it had been hard enough for her to ask him at all; at this point, her silence was all the permission he was going to get. So he lifted his hand to her face until he found her chin and gently pulled her toward him. Giving her every chance to change her mind and pull back, he brushed his lips against hers for a second. Her mouth clung sweetly to his, so he allowed himself the slightest increase in pressure, but only until, unexpectedly, her mouth opened under his.

He jerked away. "I thought you said you'd never been kissed!"

"I haven't. I read about it in a book," she confessed.

"You learned to kiss from a _book_?" Was there no end to the surprises this young woman had in store for him?

"I tried to, anyway. Did I? Learn, I mean. Did I do something wrong?"

"No. You were fine. Better than fine," he assured her hastily. You just surprised me. " He laughed. "What kind of book?"

"A romance novel. I borrowed it from one of the maids. I was curious. I mean, once I knew I was going to be out in the world."

Lying there in the dark, he suddenly formed a mental image of her in one of her chastely high-necked nightgowns, tucked up in her virginal bed under his very own roof, earnestly studying a racy book, while biting at the pink tip of her tongue in concentration. It was a _very _enticing image, one that drove him to seek her mouth in the darkness again and fill in any remaining gaps in her knowledge. She was a fast learner, he'd give her that.

He kissed her thoroughly, for a very long time, though it wasn't half long enough. She kissed him back, with great enthusiasm, if not a lot of skill. Her taste was intoxicating, like honey and apricots and wine, and her soft broken sighs were tempting beyond reason. He threaded his hands through the golden silk of her hair, thinking somehow that if he held on to her head, he'd be able to keep his hands from exploring the rest of her. But it didn't help, because before he knew it, the rest of his body had managed to maneuver until she was underneath him, and judging from the way she was squirming against him, she was _very_ happy to be there. He tried to listen to his conscience over the thunder of his heartbeat.

"I can't," he gasped, tearing his mouth away from hers. "I can't kiss you anymore."

"Oh, yes, you can." She was out of breath herself, and hanging onto him for dear life, digging her fingers into his shoulders as though she couldn't get close enough to him.

"Maria." He tried to take a deep, calming breath. Her "Fraulein" title was lying out there in the darkness, having apparently been discarded along with her frozen clothing. "If this goes on any longer, we're going to find ourselves doing something you don't want to do with me."

"But what if this is my only chance? To find out what it's like?" she asked.

With her head still held firmly between his hands, he forced a few more inches' space between them, although he could barely tolerate being even that small distance away from her.

"You'll have plenty of chances," he said, and he found himself regretting that might be the case, that she might someday kiss another man this way. "It's not something you want to have happen just because we're in this absurd situation. You should save yourself for someone you love."

In the pitch-black shed, the frigid air around them hummed, as though suddenly charged with electricity.

"But I _do_ love you," she blurted.

"Then why are you leaving me?" he shot back, as though the words had been poised on the tip of his tongue for days.

"Because, Captain. _You_ don't love _me_."

**########**

**I don't own TSOM or anything about it. Thank you for all the lovely reviews, follows and favorites. This was one of several chapters that benefited greatly from lemacd's review.**


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Her words hit him like a blow, sending his thoughts reeling in a million directions. His mind flew to the nights when they'd climbed the stairs together and bid each other an awkward goodnight on the landing, before returning to their separate rooms. When a man and a woman come together at the end of the day, he thought - to talk things over, to worry over the young lives they are tending, to share stories of their pasts, and their hopes and fears for the future - that isn't the way the evening should end. They should end the day in the comfort of each other's arms. Shouldn't they?

"I'm sorry," she apologized, breaking into the silence. "It just kind of slipped out."

"But I _do_, Maria," he said slowly. "Love you."

Now that he had said it out loud, he saw the truth so clearly, he couldn't imagine how he'd missed it before. It was almost as though they had been living as man and wife for months, except for the absence of passion, the lack of desire. And while he'd tried to tell himself he was past that kind of thing, the truth was: he hadn't let himself _want _her only because he'd thought he could never _have_ her.

But she was not going back to Nonnberg!

"Maybe you just feel that way because we're in this terrible situation," she broke into his thoughts, tentatively. "Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure. What kind of a question is that?" The last few minutes' revelations had calmed his body down, but his mind was still in turmoil, trying to fit the pieces together. "Maria. Last summer. Why did you run away to the abbey? And what was it that made you come back?"

"Well," she hesitated. "I told Reverend Mother that I might be in love with you. Actually, she sort of dragged it out of me. And then she made me come back, to find out if you loved me. But when I got back…" her voice broke and she lapsed into silence.

He resolved to spend the rest of his life making it up to her, the way she'd looked standing at the bottom of the steps that day. But for now, he only pulled her closer. "I'm sorry. When you ran away, I thought you were gone for good, and that I couldn't really hope for anything more than…well. You know the rest."

But something was still bothering him. " And anyway, Maria, it was only a few hours later when I came looking for you. Then you _knew_ I'd broken things off with Elsa. And still, you wouldn't let on to anything! Why didn't you say something then? And while we're at it, just how long did you know that you were never going to go back to the Abbey before you bothered to tell me? All autumn, every evening, when we were having those cozy chats, you _knew_, didn't you? Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you?" she said, with a little huff of amused indignation. "What exactly was I supposed to say? I didn't know what to do. I didn't even know what to hope for. You've had _everything_ in your life. I mean, I know you've lost a lot too, but you've had what most people only _dream_ of. Love. Fame. Money. And with all of that, even _you_ didn't hope for another happy marriage! I've gotten by my whole life by learning to love whatever I've been given, and not wishing for any more. And anyway, there was another reason. The Baroness – she said that you'd get over me soon enough."

"She said _what_?" He stiffened.

"That's what men do, she told me. Get over things like – well, like flirtations with their governesses."

"For God's sake, Maria, is that what you think this is about? This is not a flirtation! I have never…" he sputtered. "Or maybe when I was younger, but I am not that kind of man anymore! I was deeply in love with my wife. I just assumed that I would never love anyone that way again. If I had known…"

"Well, then," she said reasonably, "why didn't _you_ say something to _me_?" Even though he couldn't see her, he could tell by her tone, and the way she pulled a little away from him, that she was in her reproving -governess mode. Somehow, it made him absurdly happy.

"Because_, _darling," he said, drawing out the endearment, savoring its sound on his lips, "Maria, _darling_, I thought you wanted to go back to Nonnberg. You told me that Reverend Mother was letting you stay on with us temporarily. You failed to mention that she was booting you out for good. Personally, I never could imagine you as a nun, and," he pulled her back into a close embrace, "it turns out I was right."

"It wasn't her fault," Maria said. "She said that if I had these feelings for you, it showed that I wasn't meant to serve God in that way." Her voice caught again. "In some ways, it was a relief. I think I always knew I didn't belong at the Abbey. Reverend Mother promised to find me a position, and she said that I'd find myself a young man someday, one who would love me."

"Well, you've got a man now, though he isn't a young one," he chuckled.

"I think you are _splendid,_" she confided, stretching luxuriously against him. His heart lifted to hear the joy and relief so evident in her voice. She ran her hands tentatively across his shoulders, as though she wasn't sure they belonged there, and he reached up and held her hands in place long enough for her to understand: Yes. Touch me just that way.

She gave a contented sigh and squeezed his shoulders lightly.

"You know," she asked, "how we were meeting in the evenings, to talk, and then we'd go upstairs and say good night on the landing? One night, I got it in my mind that I would turn around and follow you. Just to see what you'd do when I knocked on the door to your room. But I was too afraid."

"You were afraid of what would happen between us?"

"Oh, no," she said earnestly. "I could never be afraid of you that way. But I _was _afraid you'd send me away. Freeze me out, the way you did the night of the party. I don't set myself up for disappointment because, well, it's like I said. Hope is a dangerous emotion. But this time, you aren't going to turn me away. I can tell," she said, and even in the dark, he could almost see the mischief on her face. She wriggled against him, and there was no denying her meaning. There was also no denying her effect on him.

"You don't want that," he said unsteadily. He felt the low burn of desire flicker and then roar to life again; suddenly, he was exquisitely aware that a few buttons on his trousers were all that stood between him and her virtue.

"I know exactly what I want," she said stubbornly. "It's so unfair! To find out after all this time that you love me, and then – what if we don't make it out of here? Don't you at least want the memories?"

"If we don't survive," he pointed out, "we won't have _any _memories. And if we do survive, you could be left with more than a memory, did you think of that?" He tried to sound logical, but it wasn't easy since it was getting harder and harder to breathe. "Trust me. This is not the way it should be."

"Why? How should it be?"

"In a bed. A big, comfortable one. Where I can see you. And you can see me."

"With the lights on?" She sounded scandalized. "Do you mean to say that people … I wouldn't have the nerve."

He laughed. "Yes, with the lights on." Her mix of innocent enthusiasm and bewitching allure was driving him mad. "Your eyes," he said, "your beautiful eyes. How I wish I could see them."

"_Your_ eyes. When we were dancing," she said dreamily. "The way you looked at me, I thought I was going to burst into flames."

He had gone quite long enough without kissing her again. He skimmed his lips over her face, anticipating the pleasure he would find in her mouth, when she pushed him away.

"Wait. There's something _ I _want to ask _you_. That night, the night of the party? Why did you freeze me out that way? _Something_ had happened between us during that dance. And I understood that you couldn't do much about it right then or there, but why did you have to act so cold towards me? Like you didn't care at _all _what I did."

He took a deep breath. "The only excuse I can offer is that I had not been so rattled, so thrown by anything, for years. Maybe ever. I couldn't think straight. I could hardly breathe, I wanted you so much, and I needed time to think, to, well, strategize, I-"

She interrupted him, pulling his face close so close to hers he could almost taste her, and weaving her fingers through his hair.

"Don't freeze me out again."

At that moment he lost the battle, or maybe he won it. He hadn't felt this alive in years. All those months with Elsa, the empty encounters before that – _this _was what he had long ago given up hoping for. She was right: it was unfair that this should have happened now, but at least for tonight, there was something to live for. If he were going to die out here in the mountains, he was going to die a happy man, now that he knew it could make her last hours on earth her happiest, too.

His conscience gave him one last nudge. She was so young! Did she have any idea what she was getting herself into? But all he could do was send a silent prayer for forgiveness heavenward before he bent his face to hers. She trembled in his arms. "Maria. Are you cold?"

He felt her smile against his skin. "Quite warm, actually."

"Are you feeling shy? Or afraid? You must promise to tell me if it's too much for you, any of it."

"I told you. I could never be afraid, being with you. It's just that I've dreamed about this so many times, I can hardly believe it's happening. Not that I could really have imagined what it would be like." She ran a hesitant finger across his chest, leaving little sparks of desire in her wake. "I can't stop thinking about what you said."

"What I said? About what?" he murmured. His mouth found the tender curve of her ear.

" About – " she gave a little gasp. "Skin-to-skin."

"Ah," he said. "That, I can help you with." He slid his hands downward to the curve of her waist and beyond, until he could reach under the jumper; if it was soft, the skin underneath was softer still. Her body was firm and smooth beneath his hands.

For the first few hesitant minutes, he tried desperately to hold back, not wanting to frighten or overwhelm her. But she was with him every step of the way, ardent and fierce, curious and vulnerable, and completely unafraid.

Five years. Five years of pent-up emotion surged through his veins. Perhaps it had been the long drought, but he couldn't get enough of her – her beautiful mouth, her clever fingers, her impossibly soft skin. The night became one long, feverish dream: a dream in which he could see nothing, but every other sensation – taste, smell, sound and touch – grew sharper.

Any fear about their situation was forgotten; nothing in the world mattered outside the small warm cave they created, huddled beneath the fur-lined blanket. There was no one in the world besides the two of them, and together, they set out to explore each other, fearlessly, emboldened by the darkness. When one of them hung back, the other coaxed and encouraged. And if she clung to him at times, there were moments when found himself holding fast to her as well. Perhaps the storm raged on outside, but they wouldn't have known it; the cold, dark air in the shed was filled with murmurs, sighs, shouts and cries – some of which, he dimly realized, were his own.

There were moments, too, when the tide receded, the storm they created together inside the shed subsided and they shared secrets, whispering and laughing together.

"What was _that_?" he chortled when they were interrupted by a loud, growling noise. "I'm afraid there's a bear in here!" He nipped at her shoulder.

"I'm sorry," she laughed, "when I don't get my supper, my stomach lets me know. Did you say there was a box of chocolates for us to eat?"

"I have some sweets here somewhere, yes." He scrabbled a hand outside the warm covers until he found the box. "But I'm not sure I can be persuaded to share it. " He paused. "You like games, don't you? "

"Not with you," she groaned. "You are too competitive for me. I am _not_ playing you for chocolate."

"I'm willing to take something in trade, then," he offered.

"Like what?"

"Like, you can have some chocolate if I can feed it to you. And if you will feed me."

"All right," she said affably. "That seems easy enough."

Holding the box just out of her reach, he taunted, "One more thing. No hands."

Another hour was gone, and most of the Christmas sweets with it, before he spoke again. "I knew it all along, you know," he crowed, licking a last bit of chocolate from her skin. "Do you know when I first started loving you? That first night at the dinner table, when you sat on that ridiculous pine cone," and he slid his hands lower, to find the place where he imagined the pine cone might have bitten her.

"Don't be ridiculous," she scoffed. " I might as well tell you that I fell in love with – with – well, your whistle," she barely managed to finish the sentence before dissolving into giggles.

And then, a hectic half-hour later.

"How did you get this scar?" she asked, touching her tongue to his chin.

"I fell off the roof of the barn when I was a boy. In Trieste."

"I am almost beginning to believe that you _could _have been a boy once. And this?" Her fingers traced the scar that ran along his ribs.

"Not tonight," he said firmly. This wasn't a night to let the painful past intrude. Making the point, he slid his thumb along her neck, past the hairline, to the alarming dent he'd discovered in her scalp. "Are you going to tell me about this?"

"No," and he could hear the smile in her voice. "Not tonight. You're right."

And later still:

"You _look _ so delicate," he observed, running a finger down her arm until he could circle her wrist. "But you are really very tough inside, aren't you?"

"Hm. I suppose," she mused, "and _you_ appear so tough. Intimidating. Aloof. Does that mean that inside you are really…"

"Don't say it," he growled, rolling over until she was firmly pinned beneath him. "Or I will be forced to take drastic action to protect my secrets." He prodded her ribs until she shrieked with laughter, and when he relented, she rewarded him by wrapping her arms around his neck and breathing into his ear, "I love you, my Captain. I do."

The hours slipped by. Slowly, reluctantly, they lurched toward sleep, fighting against it for one last kiss, one last caress, but too exhausted to hold off any longer. She nestled against him and yawned widely.

"Maria," he hesitated, "in the morning. Whatever happens, I want you to know-"

"Oh, we'll be all right," she reassured him drowsily . In the darkness, her hand groped for his and squeezed it tightly. She led him into the safety of sleep and there, on the cold hard floor, despite hunger and fear, he slept more soundly than he had in years.

**#&amp;%(^)# ****#&amp;%(^)# **

**Happy 50****th**** birthday to you, TSOM, even though I own nothing about you! Please leave me a review and let me know what you think! **


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

He was awakened by the sound of voices nearby: 

"They can't have gotten far, not in that storm."

"Did you look over there?"

"Hey! Remember the old shed? Maybe they're in there!"

"But would they have gone this far from the car?"

Relief flooded through him. "Hello?" Georg shouted, "Who is that? Who's there?"

Pushing aside the covers, he stumbled to his feet, rushing to get to the door before the passers-by disappeared. It must have been well into the morning, judging by the slanting slivers of light that found their way through gaps in the shed's walls. Wincing at the cold, he tripped over the empty chocolate box and the various bits of clothing that had been discarded overnight. He smiled at a bright splash of color: the scarlet jumper, crumpled in a dark corner where he'd tossed it.

Georg rushed to the door and threw it open, blinking at the blazing-white brightness of sun on snow. "Hello?" he called again, and then his vision cleared and he saw in front of him two men – one only a boy, really, barely older than Friedrich - on cross-country skis.

If they thought it strange to confront an unshaven, chocolate-smeared man standing naked in the freezing cold, they were too polite to say anything. Out of nowhere, a sudden memory made him smile, Agathe teasing: "You are so dignified, Georg, that you don't even need a uniform! You could be stark naked and people would probably stand and salute you."

"Good morning, sir," said the older man. "I'm Hans Aistrop, and this is my son, Stefan. That's your car by the creek? You've gotten yourself good and lost." 

Actually, he'd found himself out here in the woods, Georg thought.

"Yes," he explained, " we slid off the road just at dusk last night. The gas line's broken; the tank will have to be drained before it's safe to pull the car out of the water. I can't tell you how grateful I am that you came along." He extended his hand, hoping his dignified behavior would make more of an impression than his appearance. "I'm von Trapp." 

"Georg von Trapp?" asked the older one, returning his handshake vigorously. "From the war? It's an honor to meet you under any circumstances, sir. I take it you're not alone?"

"Uh," Georg hesitated, and waved his hand vaguely back into the shed. "My – uh – my wife is with me. We were traveling from Innsbruck, on the way home," he explained, "to Aigen. If there is any way you can help us get out of here, I'm happy to compensate you, of course."

"Oh, Captain, no need of that. Here's what we can do," Hans offered. "I've got a sleigh. Pulled by two sturdy horses. We can get them most of the way back in here, and give you a lift home. We ought to be back here in less than an hour to get you, all right? That ought to give you plenty of time to-" was that smile ghosting across the man's face?- "get dressed and all."

The arrangements made, the two men skied away, and Georg turned back into the shed. Despite feeling cold, hungry, and unpleasantly sticky, he also felt a surge of anticipation at the thought of an hour alone with her. He left the door open, eager to be able to see as well as touch her.

She was sitting up, clutching the blanket to her chest. She was his Fraulein Maria, no doubt about it, with her tumbled golden hair. And freckles! Dozens of them! In the darkness, he hadn't thought about those freckles, and the thought of kissing every single one of them inspired him to rush to her side.

But the panicked look on her face brought him up short. Her cheeks were fiery red, and her deep-blue gaze was fixed somewhere between his waist and his knees.

Perhaps she was just feeling shy. The darkness must have given her courage and confidence, because in the morning light, the ease between them was gone. He stood awkwardly in the cold for a moment, unsure if his attentions would be welcome.

She mumbled something he couldn't quite catch.

"What's that, Maria?"

"I said, _rescued_. We've been rescued. You said our situation was hopeless." Her eyes slid to her lap, as though she'd seen quite enough of him, and her fingers worried the blanket's edge.

"I didn't quite say that, darling. The greatest danger was the cold. And I wasn't sure if someone would come along or we would have to try and hike out of here. We're lucky, really."

They sat in a strained silence for a minute. He clearly wasn't going to be welcome back under the blanket, so he pulled on his trousers and began to look for his shoes. "They'll be coming with a sleigh. In about an hour. We'll be back in Salzburg in time for lunch," he offered cheerfully, and she replied with a weak smile, although she still wouldn't look at him. She was lost in thought, somewhere where he couldn't reach her. He hadn't seen her so subdued since that horrible day last August.

Georg was half-afraid to ask, but wasn't she the one who always counseled facing problems head-on?

"Maria," he asked gently. "You aren't sorry about what happened last night, are you? About the things we said to each other? Or about what we-"

A sick feeling swept over him as her chin lifted and she nodded yes, a prim little nod. But a moment later, she finally let her eyes meet his and shook her head, slowly. "No," she whispered. "I won't regret it. I could never regret it. I just didn't think."

"Think what, love?"

"About what it would be like if we made it out of here. How I would feel about having-" And then she added, abruptly, "Why did you tell that man I was your wife?" 

"To avoid gossip. Scandal." 

"You mean, to avoid the possibility that anyone would think that the great Captain von Trapp would behave so irresponsibly?" 

"What did you want me to tell him? And it doesn't really matter, it's temporary, a matter of days really…" he trailed off. He thought that anything he might say right now would only make things worse. So then there was silence again, and an hour that passed so slowly it felt like a day. They barely spoke as they managed to dress themselves in whatever hadn't been ruined by the storm, and waited for their rescuers.

Once Hans and Stefan arrived with the sleigh, it took almost two hours for them to reach the villa. Although the sun was bright, the winter air was sharp, with a hard breeze that made talking difficult. Georg glanced over at her a few times, but she looked straight ahead.

He leaned forward to speak to Hans. "Do you think the road back to Innsbruck will be open today? I'm anxious to get back there."

"No, no." the older man said, shaking his head. "It will be another couple of days, Captain." He glanced over his shoulder, smiling. "I thought you and your wife had just come from Innsbruck! Is it you that's in a big hurry to go back, Madam? Or – er - I'm sorry – Baroness, isn't it?"

Maria snapped to attention at that and, leaning forward, she hissed, "I am _not _his wife."

After that, the group rode along in an uncomfortable silence until they arrived at the villa. The sleigh had barely stopped in front of the door when Maria slid to the ground. She waited quietly, looking down, while Georg unlocked the door and motioned to her. "You go on inside. Clean up and change." He paid Hans and Stefan generously over their protests, ignoring the curiosity written all over their faces, and then, squaring his shoulders, entered the villa to face whatever lay ahead.

Maria was standing in the foyer, staring at herself in the great mirror, her fingers gently tracing her cheekbone as though she bore an invisible bruise. She looked completely ridiculous, wearing his coat and her ruined shoes. Her hair stood on end and her face was dirty. Georg thought of the women, clothed in colorful gowns and glittering jewels, who had crowded the foyer during the party last summer , each of them more stunning than the next. She was more beautiful than any of them. 

He caught sight of himself in the mirror, too – unshaven, filthy and looking somehow _tentative_ and unsure of himself. Was there anything left of the man he'd been 24 hours before?

"You look lovely," he volunteered. "Though I was sure you'd already have rushed off for a bath and a change of clothes. There's really no hurry, though, since we can't get back to Innsbruck for a couple of days." 

She nodded, and then, moving quickly, she brushed by him and scurried up the stairs to the landing. Instead of turning to continue up to the staff wing, though, she stopped and turned back toward him.

"You're in a great hurry to get back to Innsbruck," she said. "I gather you've changed your mind about when to tell them."

"Changed my mind?" he asked, confused. "Under the circumstances, I thought-"

She cut him off. "Well, I've changed _my_ mind. When you do go back to Innsbruck, Captain, I think it's best if I remain here. You're perfectly capable of telling them yourself."

"Maria. What's wrong? Why are you calling me Captain? And why on earth would I leave you here? We ought to tell them together!"

She was holding herself ramrod-straight, and her voice was like steel. "You told them the last time I left, didn't you? You can tell them this time, too, then. That I've gone to Vienna."

"Vienna?" He was dumbfounded.

"I understand, really I do, Captain. You're anxious to get on with it. To tell the children I'm leaving." Her voice caught for a moment . "As you said, it doesn't really matter, with only a few days left before I'm gone for good anyway."

"Gone for good? _What?_ That is not what I meant and you know it! You must know it! Things are different now, Maria. Everything is different. I – no – _we_ are not telling them you are moving to Vienna. Because you are not going to _move _to Vienna. You are staying _here_. To be their mother. And my wife."

Her poised demeanor vanished instantly, as though he'd slapped her. She looked stunned, wide-eyed and pale. "Your _wife_? I wish you would stop joking about that. Because it's not very funny." She edged stiffly toward the stairs that would take her to her room.

"I am not even remotely trying to be funny." Cautiously, Georg approached the bottom of the stairs. "I want you to marry me!" But when he heard his voice echo loudly in the foyer, he tried again, softly. "I-uh- _ask_ you to marry me."

She was shaking her head, repeatedly, as though she might be able to cause him to disappear if she were energetic enough . "Married? Men like you do not marry girls like me."

"I don't know which part of that sentence is the greater insult - the kind of man you think me to be, or the slur against a _woman_ I love very much. You."

"I can't marry you! I'm used to being on my own. Independent. That's why I didn't fit in at the Abbey. You're used to being in charge, and you wouldn't like it one bit, being married to me. It would be utterly unfair to you."

"Why don't you let me be the judge of that?" he asked, evenly.

"It's not only that, Captain. Can you see me launching your daughters into society? Giving orders to Franz? Greeting your guests at a ball? I'm not the right person for all of this." She waved her hands in the air.

"All of this," he said, "is not important to me. _You_ are. Moreover, all of _this_, as you put it, could be gone in a year, if that makes you feel any better. The Germans. Anyway, you are already part of this family. The children would never forgive me, even if I were able to let you go. Which I cannot. Now. You can keep lobbing excuses at me all day, or you can tell me what is really bothering you."

"I'm sorry," she said quietly, her shoulders slumping. He felt a flicker of hope at the way her posture softened, until she shook her head sadly. "I can't. Not after last night. Not after the disgraceful way I behaved. The truth is, I feel too … _exposed._ Ashamed of myself. I can hardly bear to look at you, let alone marry you. I would never be able to believe that you married me for the right reasons . I don't want you to marry me out of some misguided sense of honor. Or pity."

His heart sank. "If what happened between us last night is responsible for your change of heart, then I do regret it, Maria, even if you don't. Because I don't pity you, for God's sake. I'm in love with you. I think I've been in love with you for a long time. And you love me. I heard you say it and maybe you can forget that, but I can't."

Tears shimmered in her eyes. "I've had no change of heart. I will _never_ forget you. But we have to leave it in the past, where it belongs, and move on. "

The irony wasn't lost on him. He'd given himself to a young woman who was going to leave him broken hearted. Vindication, no doubt, for all the hearts he'd broken in his youth. This could _not_ be happening. He could still feel the warm breath of Maria's words in his ear: "I love you, my Captain. I do." Or could he have just imagined it?

Once before, Georg had stood at the bottom of these stairs and asked her for another chance. This time, he would beg if he had to. Surely, if he reminded her of the intimacy they'd shared, then-

"That's not the way it works, Maria. I know you now. Oh, I already knew that you are wise. Kind. Talented. Funny. And very beautiful. But now, I know much, much more. Maybe more than any other person on earth. That you are passionate. And playful. I know where you're ticklish. I know how you taste. And smell. We are stuck with each other now, don't you see?"

Her furious reaction set him back on his heels.

"That's why I should spend the rest of my life with you? One night? _One_ night – one night that happened by _accident_ – and you think you can just…"

"_Accident_? " He heard himself shouting in return. "That's what last night was for you? An accident? Do you mean to tell me that if you'd known we would get out of there alive, you wouldn't have..."

"You don't know anything about me," she railed.

"With all due respect, _Fraulein_, you don't know me either, if you think I am the kind of man who would take advantage of a young woman in a situation like that. Who would act so dishonorably. And then compound the mistake by tying his family for life to someone he didn't even care for?"

"As I recall, Captain, you came very close to tying yourself to someone else, what, four months ago? Who will it be four months from now, _may_ I ask?"

"You know perfectly well that my engagement had nothing to do with this. Nothing. _You_ were the one who ran away, remember?"

"I ran away because I don't belong here. I don't belong in your life. Your – your Baroness Schrader would never have behaved the way I did last night. _Shamefully_. And while we're at it, Captain, let's talk about the woman you _really_ love. Your wife. You can't even speak her name out loud in my presence! S_he_ would _never_ have disgraced herself that way. Would she?"

The echo of their clashing words died away and they stood staring at each other, in a stunned silence that filled the vast foyer around them.

Georg was too shocked at what she'd said to be angry.

"Agathe? I loved her, yes. " He was surprised, how matter-of-fact he sounded to himself. " I always will love her, I suppose. But she is not here anymore, Maria. She's dead. She's _dead_," he repeated. " It doesn't matter what she would have done. You can't use her as an excuse."

She tried to choke out an apology, but she was weeping now. He wanted to go to her, but somehow he knew that if he came any closer, she'd flee. He thought of how frightened she was when he restrained her last night, and the scars he'd found on her body. He took a deep breath and then took just one careful step up toward the landing. He kept his eyes locked with hers and his voice low.

"Maria," he said gently. "You're right. I suppose there are a lot of things I don't know about you. I want to know everything, though. Every last thing."

Another step.

"And there are things I _do _know. Things I want to tell you. Need to tell you."

Another step.

"I know I've wanted you all along. I should have told you, even if I thought you'd turn me away. I was frightened. You were right, you know. Hope is a dangerous emotion. We were both too afraid to hope. Until last night, when we thought we had nothing to lose. But you can still hope, Maria. I won't disappoint you, I promise."

Her eyes remained fixed on his face, but her posture was still tense and wary.

Another step.

"Maria. You can't imagine what it was like. The first days, months, even years. The effort it took just to put one foot in front of the other, to keep living when all I wanted to do was die. I'd beaten death dozens of time at war, and then when I wanted to die, I had to stay alive for my children. Sometimes I hated them for it."

She acknowledged that with a tiny nod. It had been the very first bond between them, her opening his heart to his children again.

He was just one step below the landing now. He had to stop and clear his throat before he could continue.

"Last night. When I thought we might not survive, I wasn't thinking about Agathe anymore, God help me. It was _you_ I was thinking about. Regretful that I had never taken the chance to say what was in my heart, then so grateful that you took the risk, for both of us. You think you are unworthy, for reasons I don't quite understand yet, but the truth is, _you_ are the braver of the two of us."

One more step and then, at last, Georg gained the landing. He didn't trust himself to speak any more, but he didn't have to: he reached for her, and without hesitation, she went into his arms. But she was trembling, a bird terrified of the cage, so he held her gently and let his fingers graze her neck.

"I'm afraid, " she whispered. "Of how much I love you."

"I know how you feel," he murmured into her hair, "but you've got to trust me, Maria. Because I'm going to trust you."

They stood on the landing, holding onto each other for dear life, for several long minutes. At last, she pulled away and studied his face. "That scratch," she lamented. "I am sorry about that. Although it does look rather dashing."

"It doesn't hurt ," he reassured her, and then he pulled her close again and took a deep breath. "Maria. We have a couple of days before we can go back to Innsbruck and tell them. No one knows we're here. We can be together. Like we were last night, but with heat and food." He felt the curve of her smile against his neck. "After that, well, all hell's going to break loose. And I want us to be married as quickly as possible. You want that as well, don't you?" and his heart lifted when she nodded silently.

"But if you'd rather, we can slow it down. I'd be happy to court you. Take you to dinner. Buy you flowers. Kiss you on the cheek. Read poetry to you. Hold your hand. That kind of thing. You didn't get much of a courtship."

"I believe," she said dryly, "that what I got was the wedding night, actually. Or something close to it, if I'm not mistaken."

He laughed. "You got my jumper out of it as well. I don't think Max will mind, though it's not much of a trousseau."

"What I'd really like," she announced, "is a hot bath. And a change of clothes. And a hot meal after that."

"A bath it is." he smiled, "I could use the same." He kissed her on the forehead and stepped away. "I'll meet you here in a half-hour, how is that?"

He turned to climb the stairs, toward the nursery and the master suite beyond, when he felt her hand slip into his.

"Not so fast," she said.

Georg turned to see the sun rise in her eyes.

"This time," she said, "I'm coming with you."

THE END

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

**Thank you for reading, reviewing and favoriting my story! I hope you loved reading this story even half as much as I loved writing it (and yes, I also love thinking about what happens once they get upstairs, but maybe that's for another time!) Please leave me one last review, would you? And thanks for putting up with my small chapter experiment which, as you can see, I abandoned for the last two chapters. Thanks to people who left me reviews that told me what they liked (and didn't), and to lemacd for comments on earlier drafts. I don't own TSOM but am happily celebrating its 50****th****! I've got a few things in the pipeline so stay tuned…**


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